


Phase Changes

by Superstition_hockey



Series: Depth on the Bench [15]
Category: Hockey RPF, Original Work
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, F/M, Luc Chantal is Extra, M/M, Multi, Other, Poly Relationships, Summer Luc, discussions about Love, gelato
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstition_hockey/pseuds/Superstition_hockey
Summary: “Are you mad at me?”“I’m not mad at you.”“Oh, crisse, it’s worse, you’re disappointed.”“I’m not disappointed.”“I can’t believe you’re mad at me, when this was at least 50% your fault.”There’s a stunned silence. Finally Jacks says, “How exactly is you getting your ex-girlfriend pregnant half my fault. Please, Luc, explain that to me.”





	Phase Changes

**Author's Note:**

> I think a while ago on Tumblr there was a discussion that was like do Luc and Jacks have kids and I mentioned that yeah they totally have kids through adoption/ accident/ on purpose having kids slash quasi surrogacy what have you. Do Luc and Jacks have a gaggle of kids when they're towards the end of their careers and settling down and try to purposefully have a family? Absolutely! But there's also their first kid, who no one expected but everyone loved :)

**Part 1**

  
  
  


“Are you mad at me?” 

“I’m not mad at you.”

 “Oh, crisse, it’s worse, you’re disappointed.” 

“I’m not disappointed.” 

“I can’t believe you’re mad at me, when this was at least 50% your fault.” 

There’s a stunned silence. Finally Jacks says, “How exactly is you getting your ex-girlfriend pregnant half my fault. Please, Luc, explain that to me.” 

“You were there,” Luc protests. “You were right there. You’re my center. You’re my husband. You’re supposed to keep me from making bad decisions. You could have been all, ‘Hey, Chants, maybe don’t hit it raw with your ex, bro.’ And instead you were all, ‘That’s it, baby, you’re doing such a good job, such a good boy.’” Luc glares at him. “You know that shit fucks me up. I’m an athlete. I’ve been conditioned. I respond well to positive reinforcement and praise. How was I not supposed to nut?” 

Jacks sighs.

 “Shit.” Luc groans and thunks his head against the side of the compound row machine.

  
  


Look. The thing is it really isn’t Luc’s fault. First of all, fault assumes that there’s something _wrong_. And it’s maybe, like… non optimal … but Luc’s kinda hard pressed to see that there’s anything to be sad about. 

Also, it’s not _wholly_ Luc’s fault because he was not alone. Jacks’ mom, always the nurse, used to always say, “It takes two people to make a baby.” 

In this particular case, it took five. Luc is obviously, logically, _mathematically_ , like maximum 20% at fault. Not that there’s any fault to begin with because babies are fucking badass, and it’s not like this is an episode of 16 and pregnant or something. Sveta’s turning _30_. 

“I don’t even really get what there’s to talk about?” Luc says, throwing himself down in the chair for the “family meeting.” He stretches out his knee, rubs it absently. “I mean, it’s a baby. It’s not like it’s complicated. 

“It’s complicated, Luc,” Jacks says firmly. 

Luc sighs. “Every fucking species on this planet figures out a way to reproduce. If humans 500,000 years ago could figure out how to continue the species when they couldn’t even figure out basic wifi, I think we can make it work. We're smart, we've got modern healthcare, wikipedia, and like 80 million baby bloggers on Youtube. What is complicated about this? She’s having a baby. When it turns two we’ll buy ‘em some skates. We’ll make them eat their vegetables and take naps and do their homework and tell them that we love them a bunch, and eventually they’ll be a grownup. What the fuck else is there to do?” 

Sveta mutters something in Ukrainian and stomps off. Jacks sighs. Crash bites her lip and glances at Stick. Jacks sighs again, stands up, eyes fixed on Luc. “Luc. You’re being deliberately obtuse. Babies change everything. Can you just act like a grown up for two seconds.” 

“Wow,” Luc says. “Wow, just… fuck off dude,” and stomps off himself.

  
  
  


The annoying thing is that this whole. This whole FUCKING thing only happened because everyone is _growing up._ The further they got in their 20s the more _grown up_ everyone kept saying they were, and the more it kept fucking Luc up because he’d been working under the assumption that they’d all been adults for years. He had been, at least, and he’d just kinda, subconsciously assumed everybody had been right there with him. 

Luc’s been an adult for nearly a decade. Maybe not _legally_. But. He left home when he was 16 to do the job he’s planning on retiring from. He got married when he was 18. He bought his first house when he was 19. Sure he’s gotten (hopefully) wiser as he’s gotten older, he’s figured shit out about himself, he’s grown as a person and probably will keep doing so or whatever. But as far as like… life choices? Milestones? Changes?  What is there to do except keep winning trophies, hopefully for the same team and make sure that when they retire, him and Jacks, it's as the best that’s ever been? Basically, he’s been right where he knew he was going to end up for so long that it took him by surprise when everyone else started shuffling off, moving on with their lives like they hadn’t planned on doing the same things they were doing in their early twenties for the next two decades or so.  


They’d been on vacation. Luc and Jacks had been so tired after what had been the most brutal, exhausting, heartbreaking playoff series that had them _losing_ in overtime in game seven. They’d stayed in bed for two days _sleeping_ and then on the third day Jacks had fished his phone off the floor, called their accountant and said, “Find us somewhere sunny and far the fuck away from Canada for as long as possible,” and they’d just rented out a huge old villa just outside of Paphos in Cyprus for like… a month and a half. Friends and family had waxed and waned through the doors, coming to see them and staying for a while and then continuing on with their summer elsewhere, while Luc and Jacks licked their wounds and soaked in the salt water and sun-warmed terracotta. 

Luc went on a run one morning, ran down the beach and back. Coming back up the path he’d seen the distant figures of Sveta and Stick walking down the beach together, holding hands. When he’d started making his way up the beach path to the house, he’d found Crash sitting on a rock, looking out to the sea and sat down next to her. 

“You stink,” she’d said and he’d rubbed his sweaty arm all over her face. He’d expected retaliation but instead she’d just sighed and looked back out at the view. 

It took him more long seconds than it should have to realize she was staring at Sveta and Stick as much as she was watching the waves.   

“I’m happy for them,” she said, when she caught him watching her. 

“I know.” Luc said. “I’m happy for them too.” 

“I’m… happy for them,” Crash repeated. 

“Yeah,” Luc said quietly, “me, too,” and threw his arm over her shoulder.

The thing was… Luc _was_ happy for Svets and Stick. Really, truly, deeply happy. He loved both of them. The thought that they were falling in love with each other, even if, to the rest of them, they appeared to be moving at a glacial pace. Well, what’s not fucking great about that? 

But Stick’s postdoc was up at UC Santa Cruz. He’d applied to lots of places, been offered another postdoc at McGill, and Luc was pretty sure Stick and Sveta’s long serious beach walk has a lot to do with discussing the merits of him moving closer.   

Which was great. Luc was happy for them. Crash was happy for them. Except moving to Montreal meant leaving Santa Cruz. 

And leaving Santa Cruz was evidently _normal_ , like just… a standard and expected part of Stick, _Dr. Stick’s_ career, which was fine, because Stick is _smart_ , and of course he needed to go to his next post doc.   

Except it seemed like the whole surf house was growing up and moving on too. Disko’s aunt had died and left him with a house in Maui. Pax had taken a lecturer position in Chicago. Loops had fallen hard for some girl named Sage who lived in Australia and was finding her way back to California less and less. Even Sleets. FUCKING SLEETS, had shaken himself out of his constant fog of kush, shaved his scraggly beard, dragged a navy blue blazer and some khakis out of the back of his closet like some gross yuppy skeleton, and quit working at the marijuana dispensary to go to law school at Stanford. 

Sleets. 

 _Stanford._  

Luc had blinked for 30 solid seconds when Crash had told him and then said, “Does Stanford know that he once was so stoned he ate a bowl of Peanut Butter Crunch with beer not milk and thought it was, and I quote, ‘the most genius invention of all time.’” 

Luc was happy for Sveta and Stick but if he was honest he was worried about Crash. And… feeling, personally, a little lost. It’s one thing to live apart from the Surf House. It’s another for it to not _exist_ anymore.

  


Luc and Crash’s existential morning crisis on the beach had turned into breakfast of yogurt and dark strong honey along with a cup of dark sweet espreso, to playing on the beach, splashing water at Jacks and tackling him in the surf and napping on a beach towel while Sveta read The Master and Margarita and combed her fingers through his hair, smelling like sunscreen and honey, to low key lunch with all of them on the patio where Crash had sat on his lap for half of the meal, while Luc leaned against the solid wall of Jacks’ chest, and Stick had squeezed Luc’s arm and laced his fingers through Crash’s. 

And after lunch, when they’d been walking around Paphos, window shopping, Luc had told Stick, “I gave Crash an Air Canada card so she can you know… fly wherever she needs to, so she can come visit us… uh… I mean you in Montreal and me in….” and then trailed off because this was awkward and he was five seconds away from admitting that he’d offered to _buy_ the Surf House so Crash could live it in forever and had maybe, in a moment of insanity, offered to _make_ everyone else stay.  “I have like… methods,” Luc had said into Crash’s curls, “I know people.” And Crash had laughed into his shoulder, and kissed him and told him he was ridiculous.   

And in the street in front of a used bookstore Stick squeezed Luc’s hand briefly and said, “Thank you,” and then said, “I know you’re worried about her, but she knows what she’s doing, and she’ll be _fine_. She’s focusing on her career right now. She’ll be traveling a lot and she knows she can always stay with Disko in Maui or with you, or me, or Loops in Australia. She doesn’t _want_ to settle down, Luc. 

“I know,” Luc sighed.

 

Jacks bought two books he couldn’t read because they’re in _Greek_ and grinned when he showed them to Luc. And then Buddy said, “Want _gelato,_ ” and they all wandered over three streets to the gelato place where the guy said, “Hello again, my friends,” because Buddy and Jacks wanted gelato every afternoon.  Luc got a scoop of the Siousioukkos flavor, and an espresso, attention caught between the group of them making plans to go visit the Tomb of the Kings on Thursday, and Crash and Sveta making plans to surf tomorrow. Sveta’s hair was almost as salt-wild as Crash’s after a morning on the beach, and there was a pink strip across her nose, despite her best efforts with sunscreen, and she looked _happy_ and light, the skin around her eyes crinkling when she made plans to surf with Crash. 

Crash had been surfing Cripplers, but that was all reefs and rocks and tall waves, the sort of place she’s the only one out of them that would surf, except for the few days Disko had visited, so she wouldn’t take Sveta there, instead she was explaining how the waves at Venus were perfect for beginners, and they’d talked Jacks into coming too, and Jacks was laughing and saying that the last time he tried to surf the board flew out of the water and hit him in the face, grinning while he told the story, all hands and gestures while he recounted the story of the Great Surfboard Betrayal of 2030. 

As they walked back to the villa in the fading sunlight, a rambling group of noise and laughter, Jacks had wrapped his arms around Luc from behind and said, “You okay?” and Luc twisted his head to kiss his jaw and said, “Attempting to learn to hang loose,” and Jacks squeezed tighter and said, “Good.”

 

Back in their villa, Buddy and Yasha showered, changed into nicer clothes and announced they’re going out to dinner, while Stick announced he was making his mom’s famous etouffee for the rest of them. The sun faded from the windows but the patio doors were still open and the whole place smelled like the ocean and juniper and myrtle and the jasmine plant growing by the doors, and the spices of Stick’s cooking, and Luc played sous chef, dicing what Stick told him to dice, but mostly he had a glass of wine, and poured some for everyone else while Sveta sat on the counter between them and stole bits of green pepper and told him about how the lady at the bookstore told her about a falcon nest in the hills near the beach where they’re going tomorrow. 

Jacks pulled out his phone and played Billie Holliday through the house’s speaker system, dancing with Crash in the kitchen, twirling her into Sveta who cut in and stole Crash, leaving Jacks to dance with Luc and them both to steal Stick away from his roux, laughing and saying, “Okay, where’s _my_ glass of wine, sous chef?” 

After dinner, eaten on the couch, the music had run out of Billie Holliday and started playing Etta James and someone opened the fourth bottle of wine, and the seabreeze coming in from the open doors was ruffling all the curtains and making the candles flicker, and the conversation had gotten soft and murmured and Stick’s hand was heavy where it rested of Luc’s shoulder, Crash’s hair splayed against Luc’s knee, shoulders warm between his thighs where she was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, legs criss-crossed and telling Stick about the surf forecast for tomorrow. And Jacks’ mouth tasted like white wine and cajun spices and it was so easy, when Etta was singing about a Sunday Kind of Love to just sigh into the kiss, and turn his head, just a few degrees to kiss Sveta too.

 

And anyway, like Luc’s saying, it’s not his fault. If he forgot a condom, nobody else remembered to remind him, and Luc was _seduced,_ okay? Seduced by candlelight and Stick’s etouffee and Jacks’ warm wine-flavored kisses and Sveta’s smiling eyes and Crash’s warm laugh and the heavy scent of the salt spray that gave birth to Aphrodite and there’s plenty of shit in Luc’s life that’s complicated, why is everyone trying to make this complicated too?

  


 

**Part 2**

  
  
  
  


He finds Sveta out by Yasha’s greenhouse. She says “I'm 33, I want this baby,  I'm sorry if its ruining everyone else's plans, but I'm not sorry. I want it.” 

And Luc says, “You're _33_??? I thought you were about to turn 30?” 

“I was a _model._ I don't just go around telling people my age,” Sveta replies in a tone like Luc’s an idiot. 

“You're eight years older than me!” Luc laughs. 

Sveta takes his hand and very sweetly says “Lucasya, I am pregnant, hormonal, freaking out, and I want you to know that if I kill you right now, not only will you not be the first man I’ve killed, but no jury would convict me.” 

“Svets.” Luc grins and dares to dart in and kiss her cheek despite her glare. “You're not going to kill me, I'm your baby daddy. Also it’s an Olympic year. A Quebecois jury would _definitely_ convict you, even if I had it coming.” 

“Murder is too good for you, please take this seriously.” 

“Why does everyone think I'm not serious just because I'm not _sad_. You're a fucking beaut, Svets. This kid's going to be a beaut too.” 

“You're _happy_?” 

“Yes? Why wouldn't I be?”

Svets make some sort of complicated, exasperated hand gesture and says, “everything’s just------” like it’s too much. 

Luc leans against a bench, bites his lip and really _looks_ at her. She doesn’t really _look_ pregnant. She’d looked pregnant this morning when he’d found her puking in the downstairs bathroom, pale and clammy and _royally_ pissed about it. She’s not glowing or anything. She just looks like Svets. Tall, angular, unreally gorgeous even frowning at him in old jeans and a baggy t-shirt, irritated and … vulnerable. She looks vulnerable. And like she hates that exactly as much as Luc should have known she would. 

“Svets, I am…” He shakes his head. “God, I am… always saying this to you. I should just get it tattooed on me: I’m not trying to be an asshole, I just don’t understand. Babies are a good thing. Like, I just…. It didn’t work out between us, but you’re still fucking awesome? Babies are awesome? It’s not like we’re like… like we can’t afford a kid, or like we’re trying to go to school or … we’re not teenagers, Svets. You’re _33_.”

She glares at him, but there’s half a reluctant smile hidden under it. “Seriously, Svets, I’m fucking stoked, man.” 

“I’m worried about trying to do this all together. It _is_ complicated, Luc.” 

Luc sighs. “You know, bonobos don’t worry about this kind of nonsense, they just have babies, raise them, live their lives.” 

Sveta leans against the bench with him. “We’re not monkeys, Lucasya.” 

“Yeah,” Luc sighs. 

She laughs a little, leans back against his shoulder. “Monkeys don’t get to play hockey.” 

“Ah. You win this round, Volkov.” 

Sveta scoops up one of the chickens wandering around them (he thinks this one is maybe Pearl? Or Marianne?), plops it down in her lap (Pearl, then, she's the one that wants to be a lapdog) and runs her hand over it’s back in classic Bond-Villian-with-a-cat pose, raising her eyebrow and saying, “I think you’ll find I win every round, Chantal.” 

Luc laughs. Holds his fist out for a bump. She knocks her own fist against his. 

“We’re good?” 

“I am still freaking out. I’m going to continue to freak out. But we’re good.”

  
  
  
  


For all everyone kept telling Luc it was complicated, Luc didn’t really _understand_ until, at _another_ family meeting Sveta asked, hesitantly, if Luc and Jacks would be more comfortable if they “got their lawyers involved,” and Jacks said the phrase “custody agreement” out loud. 

“What,” Luc interrupts. “What the fuck. What the fuck… No. We’re not.” Luc feels so suddenly overwhelmed, like he needs to break a stick on the ice, walk out the room, scream at a ref for making bullshit calls. “How… what the fucking.” 

Everyone in the room is staring at him and Luc takes three deep breaths and finally manages, “We don’t need a _custody agreement_ and we sure as fuck don’t need a lawyer to arrange one. We’re… It’s _Svets_ , Jacks.  It’s… it’s us, there’s no. Sveta _lives here_.” 

“We broke up, Luc,” Svets says, “years ago. This was a… fluke. We’re not together. I live in this house but I don’t live _with you_. We have to have some kind of… ” 

“What the fuck does any of that have to do with anything?” Luc is so confused and nothing makes sense and this is not a complicated situation why is everyone fucking it up. 

“I’m not going to live here forever, Luc.  I think it’s practical that I’d stay here through the baby’s first year, I _want to_ , but, it can’t just be like that forever.” 

“Laval has a physics department, too, you know.” Luc says and does walk out the room because he has no idea how to have this conversation and everyone is being _unreasonable_ and worse, they’re acting like he’s being the unreasonable one instead.

  
  
  
  


Luc hears the crunch of gravel in the park’s parking lot, but doesn’t turn around. He just throws the ball for Mako again and watches her run after it in glee. He’s expecting Jacks, maybe Svets, but even as he feels someone walking up behind him, the breeze carries the soft familiar scent of Stick’s cologne not Jacks’. 

“Hey, bruh,” Luc says, even as he leans over to take the ball from Mako’s mouth and throws it again. 

“Hey,” Stick says and sits down on a rock.   

Luc sits down next to him and when Mako runs up with the ball he takes it from her and says, “Sit, bebe.” 

When he finally turns to look at him, Stick smiles, a little wryly and throws his arm over Luc’s shoulders. Luc sinks into it, says, “I’m sorry.” 

Luc feels the huff of Stick’s little laugh more than he hears it. “Why?” Stick asks. “Like you said the other day, it’s not like we weren’t all there. Or were you apologizing for being an ass?” He kisses the top of Luc’s head. 

“I didn’t… I _don’t_ want to fuck things up for you and Svets,” he says, directly into Stick’s shoulder. 

“You’re not going to,” Stick says. “You know we love you, right?” 

“I know,” Luc answers, because he does know it. 

Stick squeezes his shoulder more firmly. “Sveta can’t live in someone else’s sunroom her whole life.” 

“It’s not--” 

“She _can’t_ , Luc. And I know you and her have already talked about that. That’s not news, with or without a baby.  This is how the universe works. Things change. Things drift. Systems change.” 

“Are you about to give me a lecture about entropy?” 

“Would it help?” 

Luc doesn’t answer, so Stick rolls his eyes and starts scratching an equation into the sand with the toe of his shoe. 

“⍴, here, is the density matrix of your house,” he jokes, using his Lecture Voice, “the Tracer operator is...” and Luc laughs and cuts him off by shoving him a little and Stick laughs and shoulder bumps him back, grabs Luc’s hand. “I’m not moving to a physics department that has nothing to do with my direction of research and Sveta isn’t going to live in your sun room like you’re keeping her on retainer.” 

“I’m not -- that’s not, it’s _not_ like that.” 

“I know it’s not. And it’s not going to be,” Stick says firmly. He sighs. “It’s complicated, Luc, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be hard. You and Jacks are good at moving plays, and Svets and I are good at complicated system analysis. Lots of kids have two sets of parents and step-parents, we’ll make it work, we’re all just trying to outline our parameters, set up our system boundaries.” 

“Lawyers and custody agreements are for couples who are breaking up, for people who… who are too angry with each other to be good people to each other anymore.” Luc says, and is a little surprised by the way his voice shakes as he says it. Jacks’ parents had a _custody agreement_. The agreement was that Jacks’ father sent a child support check every month and in return Jacks or his mother never saw him, or called him or contacted him in anyway ever again. 

“ _Chants_ ,” Stick says, soft and little sad sounding, “Chants, brah, that’s not…  Is that what you’ve been worrying about? That’s not going to happen, Chants.”    

Luc sighs. “I don’t want everything to split apart.” 

Stick doesn’t say anything to that. Just keeps his arm around him. 

“Do you think Crash really is okay with the surf house dissolving?” 

“It’s not dissolving, it’s just moving, nothing is lost, Luc, it just changes phase.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Luc says, and tries not think about all the stray little particles that escape, lost to the void of the universe, during those changes. 

Stick hums, and finally says, “I think she’s better at riding waves than you are.” 

Mako has given up sitting at Luc’s feet. She’s running around, chasing some geese that are five seconds away from being done with her shit, stretching their wings and honking. 

“Are we okay?” 

“You and I?” 

“Yeah, I mean… you know…” 

“You mean, are we okay even though you knocked up my girlfriend?” 

Luc winces. He knows, he _knows_ it's not like that, that it didn't happen like that, but after a lifetime of locker room bro-codes, he still can't help feeling uneasy. 

Stick kisses him, feather soft, just a breath of tenderness, over his lips. “I was there too, Chants.” 

“I just…”

“Feel guilty,” Stick supplies. “I’m not one of your hockey bros, Luc, and love isn’t about territory.” 

“I know that.” 

“So stop acting like I don’t.” Something frustrated passes across his face and he says, “You think I was just there because of Svets, you think I don’t love _you,_ too?” 

Luc is struck, suddenly, by the depth of warmth welling up in him. Stick has been his bro forever now, but he didn’t really realize how much he’d come to care for him, how much those casual, throw away “love ya, brahs” had meant. Most of the time Luc’s affection was so instantaneous: with Jacks, with Crash, hell even in its own weird way with Svets, he’d known within minutes, within an instant that they’d _stick_ to him. That he’d stick to them.  With...well... Stick, it hadn’t been like that. For a long time Stick was Crash’s best bro, her queer quasi-platonic life mate that Luc was chill with, but it wasn’t exactly the same.  

Maybe it was because they'd met when Luc was a little less comfortable with non-platonic feelings for dudes that weren’t Jacks. Maybe it was because the gulf between Luc expressing most of feelings physically and Stick’s asexuality meant it took them awhile to find all their other common languages. Maybe it was just because Stick was always slow to unfold to people.  Maybe Luc had just needed to grow up into it a little, but somehow over the years, Stick had wedged himself inside Luc’s ribcage too. 

“Come on, get your plus belle bebe, and we’ll go work out how this whole kid thing is going to work when you and Jacks are on the road in the middle of the season,” Stick says, with a smile.

  
  
  
  
  


**Part 3**

  
  


A sound wave vibrates through room temperature air around 346 meters per second. Sveta tells Tessa and Em she’s pregnant, and the news propagates through Nordiques wives and girlfriends and boyfriends to their players at least twice as fast. A ripple effect that has team chat blowing up almost instantly.

 

Holly: congrats you’re never sleeping again

G:  lololololololololololololololololololololololololololololoololol

Bergie: CHANTS YOU SLUT

Salad: is this a congrats thing or is this a shits gonna be awkward in the room thing? Asking for a friend who has to sit near you two on the plane lolol

Socks: r u having a baby shower???????????????????????

Bergie: socks u are soft as fuck

Buddy: babies best. Dibs on godfather

Bergie: woah wtf you can’t call dibs, i didn’t know we were calling dibs. What if i wanted to call dibs? Fucking rude you have to tell people if theres dibs

Charmander: no you don’t you fucking ass, that’s the whole point of dibs to call it before anyone else, you can’t like predibs dibs by saying that dibs exist

Bergie: i’m just saying u have to establish if a situation is dibs like situation or not

Charmander: u literally do not wtf is wrong with u

Socks: *3 smiley face emojis* *baby emoji* *stork emoji* *heart emoji*

Ten: oh my god the stork emoji.  did someone forget to give socks the birds and bees talk

Socks: i kno where babies come from, guys

Percy: sure you do kid

Socks: i’m 24. I have a girlfriend

Ten: precious

Rosie: you see, socks, when a daddy loves his husband and his ex-girlfriend who still lives in the house somehow like it's not super weird very very much and they all drink too much wine….

Salad: no one has answered my question about whether or not this is awkward

Luc: it’s chill

Salad: it’s chill. It’s _chill_ . Its _chill_ , he says. Wtf does that mean

Bergie: get off his dick arugula, it means its chill. It’s whatever their fuckign weirdass hippie commune does. It’s the 21st century. A family can be a man and his husband and their exgirlfriend and their baby, and their rookie and their rookies boyfriend, and their new baby rookie, and their dog and their dozen chickens and their ex-girlfriend’s not quite boyfriend and their ex-girlfriends terrifying older brother who may or may not be in the fucking mob

Jacks: no he’s all the way her boyfriend now

Bergie: right that was the important part of that

Luc: i mean it basically was? They are super heart eyes all the time

Socks: also Sergei is not to the mob, omg

Ten: PRECIOUS

Mickey: you forgot the cat

Bergie: no i forgot the cat on purpose. that beast terrifies me

Luc: dude. Brodee is a bro.

Holly: i am too old for this chat

Budddy: i’m move out! Why everyone always forget i’m not live there anymore

Rosie: you moved next door it doesn’t count

Buddy: counts! Still godfather tho

Bergie: you can’t call fucking dibs in a non dibs situation. Chants tell him it’s not a dibs situation

Luc: ……

Bergie: you motherfucker.

Bergie: BETRAYAL

Jacks: i mean i think we were gonna ask G too

G: BOOM

Bergie: YOU RETIRED FUCK WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING IN THIS CHAT

G: *nail polish emoji*

Ten: so was this like a planned surrogacy thing then?

Luc: uhhhh actually Rosie was creepily accurate about the too much wine

Rosie: duh, you think I don’t listen when ma femme tells me shes got deets

Charmander: ANYWAY congrats you guys

Jacks: did one of you assholes really just get an uber driver to deliver condoms?

Percy: hey sometimes you run out, i get it, i’m just making sure my captain’s more prepared in the future. #teamworkmakesthedreamwork

Luc: i appreciate it Perce, especially since you have so little need of them yourself, that’s really thoughtful

Ten: *fire emoji* *first aid emoji*

Holly: team work makes the dream work…, the name of your sex tape Chants

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Okay,” Luc says, begrudgingly, as he settles down into the bed next to Jacks and Jacks throws an arm over him. “It’s complicated.”

Jacks snorts into his neck, but doesn’t say anything, just presses his lips to Luc’s nape.

 

 

 

Luc _had_ called his attorney(s). Well first he’d called his mother and said, “Lawyers and child custody agreements are for assholes in suits who can’t just talk to each other.”

And his mom had said, “Attorneys are for people who want to make sure their wills and power of attorney and everything else are updated so that if they die in a tragic unexpected accident, they can be assured that what happens with their children isn’t left up to guesswork and trying to interpret what they would have wanted.”

“I’m not going to _die,_ ” Luc scoffs.

“You’re about to be a father, Luc, that’s what this means now, that’s how your thinking has to change. You have to think ahead, always, about your kid’s future. Sveta was twelve when her father died, right? Or was it thirteen?”

“Calisse,” Luc said and his mom didn't say anything on the other end of the line, just let him sit there with that until he finally said, “Je t’aime, maman, merci,” and hung up to go call his lawyer and apologize to Sveta and to Jacks.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“I love you,” Luc says into Jacks’ hand where it’s clasping his own in front of him. 

“I love you, too,” Jacks says into his hair. 

“Are you scared?” Luc asks. 

There’s a long pause and finally Jacks says, “I'm _terrified,_ but not the same way I was worried before. Now I think I'm just lowkey normal future parent scared. After you actually started talking with us, I started seeing more of the things you were excited about, I guess, getting excited about them too, and less worried that it was going to end in a train wreck of bad feelings between you and your friends.” 

“Stick said ‘complicated not hard’.” 

Jacks’ soft laughter feels warm on Luc’s neck. “Yeah well, Anthony’s a physics genius and his criteria for difficult is a little higher than the rest of us, I think. There’s plenty of stuff about raising kids that’s going to be hard, Chants, no matter what the parenting situation, and I can tell you right now you’re going to want to re-evaluate your stance on nannies once you’re dog-tired from ten days on the road, and Sveta’s dropping a two year old off with us and telling us it's our week. But I’m saving that told you so for the future, so we can let it ride for now.”

 “Yeah but… good hard,” Luc continues, charitably ignoring that last part.  Jacks is normally right, anyway, there's no point worrying about it now. “Like playoffs.” 

“Yeah,” Jacks sighs, “good hard.” He squeezes Luc’s hand.   

“Mako’s going to be a big sister.” Luc says and then, “Oh, we should totally do that as the baby announcement.” 

Jacks laughs. “If you want to have any chance of dragging me out of bed tomorrow morning at dawn for cardio, we’re going to sleep now, Chants.” 

“I asked Sveta if we could name the baby Henri or Henrietta for your grandpa.” Luc yawns, the weight of Jacks’ arm heavy and comforting over his ribs as they expand. “She said no.” 

“Obviously. Sleep, Chants.” 

“She likes the name Alexandria or Alexander. We could call ‘em Sasha,” Luc murmurs again, and Jacks’ soft tender answer of “Yeah, we can call ‘em Sasha,” just drifts along with him as he falls asleep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come find me at superstitionhockey on tumblr!


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